


To Build a Home

by orphan_account



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Pre-Canon, mentions of Louise Truman, mentions of Nora Truman - Freeform, teenager Michael Guerin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26201368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sanders might not have been able to offer Michael a home but he had been able to give him the tools to build himself one.
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Walt Sanders
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	To Build a Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for the RNM fandom. Unbeta’d except by me.

Sanders might only have one good eye, but being partially blind did not stop him from noticing that _someone_ had been sleeping rough in his junkyard.

He sighed heavily, staring into the cabin of the Chevy that had been dropped off at the yard a couple of months ago. Tucked down into the foot well of the passenger’s seat was a threadbare sleeping bag and rucksack that had either been haphazardly half-zipped in its owners rush to leave for school or the zip itself was possibly broken, Sanders couldn’t tell from his vantage point of the driver’s window.

He shook his head and let the tarp that he’d been using to shield the interior from the worst of the desert sand drop back into place. He took a few steps away from the truck, eyeing the rusted exterior and chipped blue paint critically. If someone let themselves get scratched on the rough bodywork, there was a high chance that they would need to get a tetanus shot and Sanders suspected the person bunking down in the old rust bucket wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital for one.

He knew the old couple who had once owned it had both moved to Albuquerque several years ago, leaving the old Chevy to sit on their daughter’s driveway, an intended first car for their grandson when he was finally old enough to drive and the boy had driven it into the ground. Instead of wasting time and effort restoring it, Sanders had earmarked the truck as a good one to strip for parts. Or rather, he had until _someone_ had decided to make it his bed.

Sanders scratched his chin thoughtfully.

He had suspected for a few months now that Michael Guerin had been sleeping rough. More than once that summer he had seen a tent pitched out at Foster Ranch when he had taken one of his rare trips out to the old crash site – nostalgia finally getting to him in old age after seeing Michael Guerin and Isobel Evans walking around town, thick as thieves as their mothers had been before them and looking exactly as he’d imagined they would. With their sparkling intelligence and natural charm, Sanders didn’t know how the three teenagers passed as human some days. He was ashamed to admit some days when he saw Michael, Isobel and her brother headed towards him, he turned tail and went the other way, even if it meant purposely going out of his way. The thought of catching the whiff of rain too much for him to bear and one he hadn’t expect to ever smell again.

Every day since he had picked up the newspaper and read the article about three naked children found abandoned and wandering alone in the desert, so traumatised they had been unable to speak, Sanders had cursed his negligence and idleness. He should’ve checked on the pods more frequently and his chest ached at the thought of them waking up lost and alone. But so long in stasis, other than the eerie glow the pods produced, he’d honestly started to believe that the children floating inside had passed away. Some days he still debated if that would have been the kinder fate, but more often than not he was selfishly happy that the children the two aliens had wholeheartedly loved and protected had survived against all the odds.

Sanders still despised the broken foster system that had believed Michael was better off being passed around the many foster families the fifteen year old had had, many of whom had only wanted him under their rooves for the monthly handouts received from the government. Not that a penny of those handouts had actually been spent on Michael. Sanders had had to bite his tongue more than once when he’d caught sight of the Evans twins taking turns slipping things into his backpack at the diner. After all Miss Nora had done for him, he had hoped that he could finally repay the debt to her by helping her son, but he’d been blocked at every turn and had had to settle for watching from the outside; a silent observer once more over the three of them.

The older the boy got, the more cocky and self-assured he became. Sanders had no idea what the kid was doing out one Foster Ranch exactly – in the sixty years Sanders had been visiting he had not once seen any evidence of any other worldly visitors so if the kid was waiting for someone else, he’d be waiting a lot longer yet. He might get lucky and find small fragments of the spaceship, Sanders supposed, if he knew what to look for. He’d taken plenty of trips out with Miss Nora and Miss Louise in the twelve short months he had spent with them to help them look in the dead of night. They hadn’t finished searching before the Air Force had caught up with them so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility there were still parts out there, buried beneath the sands.

Sanders only hoped if the kid was looking for something, he was being smart about it. He was an innately kind kid from what he had seen, in spite of all that his many foster families had probably thrown at him. Still able to smile that gentle smile he’d inherited from his mother, teasing his friend about his crush on one of the Orchecho sisters - Sanders had no idea which one, they were both spitfires in his opinion and Max would have his hands full with either one – and he was smart as a whip. He had serviced the school principal’s car just last month and he hadn’t been able to stop raving about one kid who was setting a few school exam records and despite his troubled background, he would probably win a scholarship to whichever university he wanted. It hadn’t been hard to figure out which kid the weedy little man had been talking about and Sanders had had fight hard to hide the grin that had threatened to break free.

He was proud of the boy for refusing to squander the opportunities put in front of him but that didn’t solve the current problem. Sanders huffed again, unable to stop himself from glancing back at the old Chevy.

With the colder winter weather starting to set in, on his daily evening drive to the Pony for a nightcap and chat with his favourite barkeeper, Mimi, more than once he had spied Michael through the windows of the Crashdown, ironically tucked away in the same corner Tripp Manes had always favoured. Sanders suspected that the kid wasn’t just cramming for late night study sessions and was in fact avoiding going home – wherever home was that particular month, anyway. He hadn’t realised that he’d settled in at the junkyard itself though.

A few gruff barks from his old mutt, Lou, signalling the approach of the first customer of the day had Sanders sighing heavily. He idly patted the old truck once, thoughtfully, an idea slowly beginning to take shape. It would take some hard grafting and a little bit of patience on Sanders’ part, but it could work.

Satisfied, he turned back for the office, making a mental list of everything he would need if his plan was to come to fruition.

He started early the next morning, which coincidentally happened to be a Saturday and he purposely made the most racket he could, ignoring the judgmental looks Lou gave him.

He wasn’t left waiting long before Lou whined happily and shot from his side. Sanders turned to watch the old mutt bound around happily at the feet of the sheepish teenager frozen next to the truck.

“Lou, quit ya yapping,” he said. Michael nervously bounce on the balls of his feet. “Well, don’t just stand there like Bambi in headlights. Make yourself useful and hand me one of those wrenches over there,” he grunted. Michael blinked at him, stunted. He sighed heavily. “Kid, I’m trying to run a business here, I ain’t got all day!”

“Right, sorry!” Michael jumped towards the bench, nearly tripping over Lou in his haste.

If Sanders had been anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have noticed that the wrench jumped the final millimetre from the work bench and right into the palm of Michael’s hand. The kid would have to be careful that no one with experience recognising alien powers never saw that because Sanders would be the junkyard that the Manes were still involved in some way with alien activity. What other explanation could there be for an Air Force family managing to stay in the same town for several generations now.

Michael handed over the wrench wordlessly, eyes shifting nervously between him, the exit of the junkyard and the old truck which still held all of his things. Sanders could practically see him calculating if he could grab his bags before Sanders threw him out. Fortunately for him, Sanders had no intention of tossing the kid to the curb.

“You like that truck?” Sanders asked, nodding to the Chevy.

Michael jumped, startling Lou at his feet, who huffed once. “I really sorry Mr. Sanders. I didn’t think you’d be needing it yet. I promise it won’t happen again!” he said, practically tripping over his words.

Sanders cocked his head. “That didn’t answer my question.”

Michael frowned and glanced at the blue truck in question. “It’s… a decent truck. If it had a working engine, at least.”

“Still warmer than a tent, I guess?” Michael stared at him, wary and conflicted. Sanders didn’t blame him. He suspected that Michael was very used to most people not taking an interest in his life beyond what they could get out of him – be it money or record grades – and took no offense that he didn’t trust him. “I’ve seen your tent pitched out at Fosters Ranch. You’re not the only one out there late at odd hours. You know anyone else in this dust heap of a town that can service their horse trailers?” Not quite the truth, but also not a complete lie. He did service the horse trailers for the ranch on a regular basis, but rarely late that late at night. “Why are you staying in my truck, kid?”

He knew – of course, he knew – but he still felt the need for confirmation.

Michael scuffed the toe of his sneaker into the dirt. Sanders leant back against the car behind him, content to wait out the teenager. He had the feeling that it had been a while since Michael had actually vocalised to anyone why he refused to stay at home.

“I hate it there,” he finally said, voice barely carrying over the slight wind.

“That bad?” The question was rhetorical but Michael still nodded.

“You’re not going to send me back are you?” he suddenly asked, face contorted with worry and he stared wildly around the yard, hands clenched tightly at his side, his entire body tense. “Please don’t call the social workers! I’ll do whatever I can around the yard as payment if you let me stay here! It won’t be all the time either! I can crash some nights with Max and there are a few other places too!” Sanders didn’t doubt that there were. He knew the local turquoise mines were a popular haunt but he didn’t particularly like the idea of Michael hiking out there every night.

He had been fully prepared for Michael to offer a quid pro quo deal. As a runaway kid himself, Sanders knew how it felt to be thought of as a charity case. But sometimes all you needed was a chance.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Michael sagged in relief. “From one runaway to another, I get it. How old are you?” he asked, brushing past Michael’s surprise at his personal revelation. He wasn’t interested in comparing notes.

“Um, I’m fifteen,” said Michael, hesitantly. Sanders nodded. That sounded about right.

“Old enough for a learners permit then.”

Michael nodded and gestured back at the Chevy. “I’ve already got my learners licence. Max, his dad got him a second-hand jeep that we’ve taken out a couple of times.”

Sanders nodded, pleased. “You know anything about engines?”

Michael shrugged. “Not really. I could figure it out though.”

Sanders didn’t doubt that he would. Miss Nora and Miss Louise, despite their origins, had picked up everything mechanical they’d ever been shown scarily fast.

“I’ll make you a deal then, kid,” said Sanders, pointing over Michael’s shoulder and towards the Chevy. “You fix up that old truck that you’re so fond of and I’ll consider it payment for letting you stay at the junkyard. You can keep camping outside or there’s an old couch in the office you can crash on. You’ll have to share it with Lou, though, and I warn you know, he snores.”

Michael considered the truck thoughtfully, a gleam in his eye that was all Miss Nora. Sanders suppressed the smirk that threatened to break free. It looked like the kid was as unable to turn down a challenge as his mother.

“Deal,” Michael said with a grin.

Sanders nodded and offered his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

\-----

It took nearly six months for Michael to fix up the truck. He worked throughout the winter, helping Sanders with the other vehicles, watching and learning the ins and outs of every engine before then applying the same lessons to the truck, often times impatiently forced to wait until they had an old scrap car arrive to pilfer parts from arrive in the junkyard. Sanders had quickly imposed a no stealing rule since he couldn’t well have his newest employee driving around town in a car rebuilt from parts stolen from his customers. He thought that the truck might’ve been completed a lot sooner had he not put his foot down and insisted it was a weekend only job. He figured Michael wouldn’t have any problems keeping up with school work on top of an after school job, but Sanders was reluctant to draw attention to that fact. The less people who looked twice at Michael while he was still a minor and vulnerable to the system the better.

Michael had been an eager student and Sanders had rather come to enjoy the kid’s chaotic energy. His foster placement had changed yet again around Christmas and while they weren’t quite as bad the previous ones, Michael had still spent more nights on the couch in the office with Lou or at Sanders own place after Michael had let on one day that he didn’t have any idea how to cook. Sanders couldn’t let that particular life lesson pass him by. He knew first hand it was cheaper to prepare his food himself that buy the overpriced pre-prepared meals from the shops.

“What do you think? Beautiful, isn’t she?” Michael crowed, patting the roof of the cabin, a large grin on his face.

Sanders tilted his head, listening to the rebuilt engine tick over. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the best the engine had ever run. Michael had really put his back into it and he had every right to be proud. Sanders certainly was.

He smothered his own grin though - some appearances still needed to be upheld after all. He looked over the rest of truck thoughtfully. The wonky passenger door had been fixed, the side mirror that had been hanging on only thanks to some tape had been re-fitted and Michael had polished the entire thing until she gleamed in the desert sun. Despite the sound she was making, she would never look brand new again, but Sanders thought that the look of the Chevy rather appealed to Michael, who didn’t need new things but appeared to take great joy in fixing what was broken.

“You’ve done a good job considering the hunk of junk she was when she arrived,” he finally admitted as Michael cut the engine. He caught the keys Michael threw at him with practiced ease. 

“Ha! I’ve done a great job!” Michael smirked. Sanders rolled his one. The kid had no modesty sometimes. “So what are you gonna do with her now?”

“Sell her,” he said, idly twirling the keys in one hand. Michael’s face froze. “This is a junkyard and she’s no longer junk.”

Michael wasn’t quick enough to hide his flash of disappointment but he nodded a couple of times before taking a few hesitant steps away from the truck. It looked like every step pained him. “Right. Sell her, of course that’s what was gonna happen,” he said quickly.

Sanders had to fight to keep the smile off his face. Some people would mock Michael’s attachment to the old truck, it was an inanimate object that had no real monetary value. But Michael had clearly become attached, and not just because it had offered a warm place to rest his head. He’d poured a lot of time and effort into fixing it up, something Sanders could completely understand and relate to. He’s only been allowed to watch Miss Nora and Miss Louise while they worked on their alien spaceship, carefully piecing the shattered shell back together, but he’d felt its loss just as keenly when it had been lost in the barn explosion.

Sander shook the keys in his hand, waiting until he had Michael’s attention before throwing them at him, forcing the kid to either catch them or have them hit him in the face.

“Congratulations, kid! You just bought yourself a truck.”

Michael stared at the keys in his hand. “What?” he asked.

“I reckon if you keep working here at the yard on weekends, you’ll be able to pay it off by the time you’ve finished high school,” Sanders explained.

Michael’s eyes widened in shock. “What do you mean?”

Sanders huffed. “I mean, the truck’s yours if you want to keep working to pay it off,” he said slowly, finally letting a small smile break free at the completely stunned look on the kid’s face.

“Are you serious?” Michael exclaimed, hand clamping tightly around the keys as if to stop Sanders from taking them back.

Sanders’ snorted. “When have you ever known me to be anything but serious? Do I look like a man with time for joking around?”

Michael broke into such a wide grin, Sanders wouldn’t be shocked if his face ended up hurting later. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You won’t regret this!”

“Hm, make sure that I don’t,” he grunted, although his words lacked any weight and only caused Michael to laugh aloud.

“I gotta go show Max. Do you need me for the rest of the afternoon?” he asked, but he was already jumping into the cab of his new truck.

“Would it matter if I did?” he replied, but waved him off, taking a couple of steps back to avoid the dust that kicked up from the wheels. He watched the truck carefully manoeuvre around the yard before picking up speed towards the gate. Sanders grinned as it disappeared from sight up the road. He still felt he had a long way to go before he could ever repay Miss Nora and Miss Louise back for all they had done for him and for failing their children when they really needed him, but this felt like a good step towards repaying the debt. He might not have been able to offer one of their own a home, but he had been able to give Michael the tools to build one himself.

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
